California Dreamin'
by talcumpowder
Summary: Ryan wishes they could go to California. Chyan


**Pre-Notes:** I suddenly discovered a song called "California" by a band called Metro Station. And then I played it for an hour (or three).**  
Disclaimer:** Please, HSM would be set in California if I owned it. Everything is better in California.**  
Summary:** Ryan wishes they could go to California.  
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**California Dreamin'**  
"_If we drive all night, we can make it by the morning."_

Sometimes, Ryan wishes they could just. Up and leave to go to California. California isn't perfect—he knows this because California passed Prop 8 and he hates that but. He knows why it passed and it's because he knows why that he's mysteriously silent on the matter when Chad brings it up. It's not that he's racist or bitter—really, he's not because why the hell else would he be dating Chad? It's just that stereotypes are based in truth and Ryan can see that truth every time Chad's father sees the lightest of touches—some sudden and inexplicable secret smile. Maybe Chad's father doesn't hate him, but that's not the question. Ryan knows Chad's father doesn't think Ryan is good enough somehow. Doesn't love Chad enough somehow. Can't love Chad properly somehow.

Ryan wishes they could go to California. He mentions it sometimes, offhand and almost joking.

"Let's go to California, Chad. If we start now, we could be there by morning and I hear that sunrise over a beach is something you need to see to believe."

Chad always looks at him sort of funny when he brings it up. This always prompts Ryan to start talking about it dramatically and in earnest. They can make it by morning, Ryan will drive and Chad can sleep, the weather is so much nicer, if they leave they can be together without the prying eyes of everyone around them, they don't need a map how hard can it be to get there etcetera, etcetera.

Sometimes, Ryan almost manages to convince himself it's not a halfway-crazy idea. Those are the times when Chad just smiles and pulls Ryan closer to kiss him. It's nice and there's not very many moments Ryan can truly call nice in their relationship. Even if people pretend to be okay, even if they pretend to understand . . . Ryan is trained to see through it. Ryan is trained to hear the act for what it is. Even Chad can see it sometimes—the dark flicker of hate or malice in someone's eyes. It's a split-second thing, but it's there and Ryan always shifts uncomfortably under it. He wishes he were a girl—only he doesn't, because he's _Ryan_ and that should be enough for anybody. At least he doesn't lie to them, right? At least he doesn't lie and that's a lot more than he can say for some girls.

Maybe it would be better if he lied. He's tired of hearing the same words over and over and over and over like some kind of dizzying carousel that is never ever going to stop. Maybe lying would make it stop—but somehow he doubts it. Besides, Ryan doesn't feel like acting forever. He wants to be playing himself and those vampires can just _suck it_. God, Ryan hated those vampires of despair. Sometimes he could feel them creeping up on him. Whenever that happened, he just wishes for California. He wishes for the lights of Hollywood and the smog of Los Angeles and the sands of Malibu and . . . And whatever else they have in California. Perhaps the history of San Francisco.

Yeah. Ryan wishes for the history of San Francisco. He wishes for more champions like Harvey Milk, because he's too scared to be one himself. For all his confidence, he would crumble under the pressure of public office. Ryan can't act for that long, it makes him tired to act perfect. He's done too much of that in small doses already. It's tough to get through the lavish parties that his parents insist upon his presence for. It's tough not to tip his hat to that perfect, jaunty angle but he does it because he loves his parents. They love him back and they've taught him how to play his part well—it's probably why he loves acting so much. At least then he gets to interpret things and breathe life into them, instead of taking it away.

When it all becomes too overwhelming, Ryan thinks of California. He thinks of palm trees and endless summer and superstars and everything else he can think of that makes up _California _in his mind. The same way people dream of Paris and London is the way Ryan dreams of California. And somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he knows that it won't be much like what he's dreaming. It's the reason why Chad just lets him prattle on—because Chad knows that Ryan won't ever go to California unless he's got Chad with him and Chad doesn't want to go. Not yet, anyway.

And eventually, California fades from Ryan's mind. The gaudy brightness of New York's lights and the lure of Broadway make him forget about palm trees and endless summer. Somehow, though, Chad understands that New York is not for Ryan—not really. He fits in great and he likes it well enough, but he never talks about New York the way he talked about California. Besides, New York is far and expensive to get to. It's distant and hard to get to. New York is never as close as California was.

When Ryan comes back from New York—partially because he misses Chad and partially because California never really left his mind—Chad smiles and it's like no time has passed at all. They're still young, they're still in love, and they've still got California. Fuck Prop 8, fuck their families, fuck New Mexico, fuck New York and fuck the map. Chad tells Ryan to get into the car—it's three in the afternoon and they've got eleven hours of driving.

Ryan smiles. If they drive all night, they might be able to catch a sunset over the beach—but only if they hurry. So Ryan gets into the car and they drive away from everything to California, where everything might not be better . . . But at least it's unknown, because California isn't like anywhere else and if Ryan got anything right in his daydreams it's definitely the part about strange and new experiences. Experiences he can't wait to share with Chad and experiences that might fit together to create that perfect, dream-California. Ryan turns on the radio and the song that fills the car is either eerie or optimistic.

"_What do you say we leave for California? If we drive all night we can make it by the morning—and no one has to know if we decide to go. What do you say we leave for California?_"

Against his better judgement, Ryan is inclined to believe it's optimistic.

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Postit-Notes:** lol, I have a million other things to be doing but this wrote itself first. I kind of like it.


End file.
